


Flowers at Work

by Townycod13



Category: South Park
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Genderfluid Butters, M/M, clyde is a ham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13
Summary: Clyde has a bad day at work.





	Flowers at Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaisleyWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/gifts).



Clyde looked into the treacheries fridge that should how his treasure.

The duplicities device answered not for it's sins. The empty alcove within a cruel and spiteful mistress.

He could cry.

He wanted to cry.

"...someone ate my hotpockets."

Yep. This was tears.

He wasn't even supposed to work today. Called in last minute to fill in for a fallen comrade, the ailment of a bad back dissuading them from--

Yep. Nope. Not even treating his day like an adventure was gonna improve this gloom. Clyde trudged back to his desk, the break room a salty reminder of what was lost. Great. Just, he glanced at the ceiling clock, remembered he hated reading minute hands and checked his phone instead, four more hours of this torture.

He just wanted to go home. Maybe a bubble bath would improve the way the world looked? He could work really hard now and then, at the end of the day, a bubble bath would await him. He could break out his army of rubber duckies and it would be  _ awesome _ .

A red file plopped unceremoniously on his desk.

"Hey, Donovan, could you look over this file? Thanks."

Rude.

Clyde tried not to hate the stupid red file. He  _ liked _ the color red. That was one thing that didn't suck about the stupid file.

Everything else did though. Rude coworker with their rude ways. He would stick it to them.

Someday.

Never, maybe.

When he found a better job, perhaps?

Feeling older than he ought to, he tiredly flipped open the file and began to read the reports within. He'd almost made it halfway through when a crash disrupted his focus.

He raised his head, eyes searching for the culprit of the noise.

When he saw her his breath caught.

There. By the door. Delivering flowers? Did his office need flowers? That wasn't important.

The gorgeous stuttering blond was.

He was on his feet and rushing to help with the fallen vase instantly, joining a few other coworkers that thought to help the troubled girl.

"Aw gee, I'm so sorry, you don't have to--"

Clyde decided this was the perfect opportunity to introduce himself smoothly and put on  _ the smolder _ .

Of course that required locking eyes with those beautiful blues and oh no--what was his name again?

Clyde gulped audibly and the girls attention was still on him, looking faintly quizzical over his stare.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Name? He had one, right? Yeah. Yeah, he  _ totally _ had a name. He was a guy with a name.

"I. Clyde."

Someone kill him and bury him out back with the deceased souls of his dearly departed hotpockets.

The girl smiled and held out a hand and how did one describe a smile like that? So sweet and pure and perfect. He gulped again.

"I'm Marjorine." she said sweetly, shaking his hand firmly, "Thank you for helping."

Okay. He was doing good. Somehow. Now. Just. Get her numbe--

Oh. She was gone.

The mess had been cleared by his much more helpful coworkers and she was rushing off to complete her job.

Clyde tried not to sag. He failed.

The march back to his desk was somehow worse than the march from there. Why did he work at a news office? It was so  _ boring _ . He thought it'd all be action news and coolness.

But  _ no _ , even articles about super-villains were just another dumb thing to prove read and fact check. He sighed and flipped open the red file again, prepared to continue reading about the far more exciting life of 'Professor Chaos'.

Huh. That's weird. He'd swear there was another page... Clyde briefly searched under his desk before shrugging. It was probably his imagination.

What did dumb pages matter? Or this dumb article? His mind stuck on Marjorine. Maybe, maybe she'd have to do a delivery here again. He'd have to prepare the  _ perfect _ pick up line.

Discreetly, he started jotting down ideas for it on his post-its.

 

**Author's Note:**

> seemed like you were having a gross day my dude<3 I hope this cheers you up a bit at the end<3


End file.
